Copyright  by 

The  Open  Court  Publishing  Co. 

1909 


SAiN  i'A  BARBARA  COLLEGE  LIBRA] 


INTRODUCTION. 


A  GERMAN  HUMORIST. 

Wilhelm  Busch  was  born  April  15, 1832, 
in  Wiedensahl  near  Stadthagen  in  the 
kingdom  of  Hanover,  as  the  son  of  a  small 
merchant.  Having  passed  through  the 
preparatory  schools,  he  attended  the  Poly- 
technic Institute  of  Hanover  to  study  en- 
gineering, but  he  changed  his  mind  and 
decided  to  become  a  painter,  whereupon 
he  visited  the  art  academies  of  Diissel- 
dorf,  Antwerp  and  Munich.  In  the  latter 
place  he  worked  for  some  time  in  the  stu- 
dio of  Professor  Lenbach.  But  nature 
had  not  intended  him  for  an  artist,  and  he 
was  not  successful  with  his  paintings. 

Wilhelm  Busch  had  views  of  his  own 
which  seemed  to  incapacitate  him  for  a 
career  on  any  of  the  traditionally  pre- 
scribed lines ;  and  it  was  not  easy  for  him 
to  find  his  proper  place  in  the  world.  He 
was  neither  an  engineer  nor  an  artist.  He 


disliked  the  exactness  needed  for  a  drafts- 
man, and  he  lacked  the  love  of  beauty 
that  would  enable  him  to  become  a  dis- 
tinguished painter.  He  was  easy  going; 
and  yet  he  was  talented,  full  of  original 
wit  and  thought,  and  he  felt  that  he  could 
accomplish  something  in  the  world,  if  he 
would  only  understand  his  own  nature. 

At  last,  in  his  twenty-eighth  year,  he 
began  to  become  conscious  of  the  possi- 
bilities that  were  slumbering  in  him. 

In  1859  he  was  engaged  for  the  "Flie- 
genden  Blatter,"  and  here  he  found  a  field 
for  his  talent  which  consists  of  a  peculiar 
combination  of  caricature  and  satire.  His 
work  found  admirers,  and  so  he  was  at 
once  encouraged  to  write  comic  books  of 
verses  with  illustrations  of  rough  humor- 
ous drawings  executed  in  his  own  inge- 
nious style. 

The  best  known  works  of  his  hand  are 
"Max  und  Moritz,"  "Schnurrdibur,"  "Der 
heilige  Antonius,"  "Hans  Huckelbein  der 
Ungliicksrabe,"  "Die  fromme  Helene," 
"Pater  Filucius,"  and  "Plisch  und  Plum." 
But    he   has   also   written    unillustrated 


books  such  as  "Kritik  des  Herzens"  and 
"Zu  guter  Letzt,"  both  containing  poems 
filled  with  humorous  contemplations  of 
various  incidents  in  life. 

The  value  of  Busch  does  not  so  much 
consist  in  the  details  of  his  stories,  nor 
their  plots,  not  even  in  his  drawings,  but 
mainly  in  the  contemplative  comments 
which  are  incidentally  thrown  in  by  way 
of  moralizing.  They  characterize  Busch 
and  are  evidence  of  the  good  nature  of  his 
misanthropy. 

We  quote  a  few  instances  culled  from 
his  books  at  random. 

Of  bad  people  Busch  says  with  refer- 
ence to  Fipps  the  monkey: 

"Auch  hat  er  ein  hochst  verrucht  GelUst, 
Grad'  so  zu  sein  wie  er  eben  ist." 

"The  bad  one  maliciously  listeth,  you  see. 
Just  such  a  one  as  he  is,  to  be." 

But  the  evil  doer  who  succeeds  rises  in 
the  estimation  of  those  whom  he  has 
worsted.  So  Busch  says  of  Fipps  after 
having  exhibited  a  proof  of  his  superiority 
over  the  dog  and  the  cat : 


"Scitdcm  war  Fipps  bci  diesen  zween 
Als  Meister  verehrt  und  angesehn." 

"Since  then  Fipps  was  by  both  these  two 
Respected  as  master  and  honored  too." 

When  the  pious  Helen  drowns  her  mis- 
ery in  drink,  Busch  suggests: 

"Es  ist  ein  Brauch  von  Alters  her, 
Wer  Sorgen  hat,  hat  auch  Likor." 

"An  ancient  rule  't  is  and  still  true. 
Who  worry  has,  takes  liquor  too." 

How  humorous  is  the  following  obser- 
vation : 

"Ein  guter  Mensch  giebt  gerne  acht, 
Ob  auch  der  Andre  was  Boses  macht." 

"A  good  man  loves  indeed  to  guess 
That  others  too  sometimes  transgress." 

Busch  wrote  in  the  album  of  one  of  his 
friends  this  terse  saying: 

"Die  Welt,  obgleich  sie  wunderlich, 
Ist  gut  genug  fiir  dich  und  mich." 

"The  world,  though  passing  strange  it  be, 
Is  good  enough  for  thee  and  me." 

8 


Wilhelm  Busch  was  never  married,  and 
it  almost  seems  that  only  a  confirmed 
bachelor  could  be  so  satirical  and  at  times 
almost  frivolous  as  he.  His  muse  does 
not  care  for  dignity  or  decorum.  He 
himself  speaks  of  her  as  a  country  lass 
who  carelessly  dances  in  wooden  shoes 
and  does  not  stop  to  apologize  when  she 
now  and  then  steps  on  the  toes  of  one  of 
the  spectators; — such  is  the  custom  at 
rustic  merry-makings. 

Concerning  his  way  of  presenting  things 
he  says:  "Nothing  looks  as  it  is,  and  least 
of  all  man,  this  leather  bag  full  of  tricks, 
not  to  mention  caprioles  and  masks  of 
vanity." 

Though  Busch  did  not  idealize  life  but 
brought  out  in  his  caricatures  the  follies 
of  mankind,  and  though  he  himself  has  not 
felt  the  influence  of  family  life,  we  know 
from  one  or  two  of  his  poems  that  the 
softening  influence  of  a  woman's  soul  was 
a  steady  guide  in  his  life.  The  last  poem 
of  his  "Kritik  des  Herzens"  shows  this 
feature  of  his  character,  and  if  Busch  ap- 
pears to  the  world  as  a  crusty  old  bach- 


clor  vvc  should  bear  in  mind  the  tender 
background  cf  the  history  of  his  heart  as 
characterized  in  this  verse  which  is  well 
worth  translating  into  English: 

"O  du,  die  mir  die  Liebste  war, 
Du  schlafst  nun  schon  so  manches  Jahr. 
So  manches  Jahr,  da  ich  allein, 
Du  gutes  Herz,  gedenk  ich  dein. 
Gedenk  ich  dein,  von  Nacht  umhiillt. 
So  tritt  zu  mir  dein  treues  Bild. 
Dein  treues  Bild,  was  ich  auch  thu, 
Es  winkt  mir  ab,  es  winkt  mir  zu. 
Und  scheint  mein  Wort  dir  gar  zu  kiihn, 

Nicht  gut  mein  Thun, 
Du  hast  mir  einst  so  oft  verzieh'n, 

Verzeih'  auch  nun." 

O  thou,  of  all  to    me  most  dear, 
Thou  sleepest  now  full  many  a  year. 
While  many  a  year  alone  I've  pined, 
Thee,  dear  good  heart,  I  bore  in  mind. 
When  thee  I  bear  in  mind,  by  night 
Thy  faithful  face  appears  so  bright! 
Whate'er  I  do,  thy  faithful  face 
Will  warn  me  or  approve  in  grace. 
And  if  my  word  thou  wouldst  deplore 

Or  blame  my  deed, 
Hast  oft  forgiv'n  me!    I  once  more 

Forgiveness  plead! 


10 


The  only  work  of  Busch  that  can  be 
called  philosophical  is  a  fantastic  exposi- 
tion of  his  world-conception  in  the  shape 
of  a  reverie  call  "Eduards  Traum,"  which 
proves  that  the  great  humorist  was  more 
of  a  thinker  than  might  appear  at  first 
sight. 

Wilhelm  Busch's  fame  spread  rapidly 
all  over  Germany,  and  it  seems  that  he 
might  have  enjoyed  the  respect  and  hon- 
ors which  were  justly  paid  him  by  his  in- 
numerable admirers;  but  he  hated  pub- 
licity and  perferred  a  life  of  retirement 
among  the  peasantry  of  a  sequestered  vil- 
lage in  the  Harz  mountains.  No  wonder 
that  in  the  opinion  of  many  he  was  a  mis- 
anthropic pessimist  and  a  "Sonderling," 
an  odd  fellow.  He  lived  in  solitude  and 
succeeded  well  in  keeping  out  of  sight.  In 
spite  of  his  fame  he  was  little  molested 
by  the  curious  and  his  private  affairs  re- 
mained unknown  and  unheeded.  He  died 
in  his  hermitage  at  Mechtshausen  in  the 
Harz  on  January  11,  1908. 

Rumors  have  gained  currency  that  Wil- 
helm Busch  became  pious  in  his  old  age, 


but  it  is  not  impossible  that  he  was  never 
impious  as  his  satires  made  him  seem  to 
be.  Many  a  jovial  visitor  who  expected 
to  find  a  jolly,  perhaps  even  a  frivolous, 
witticist  was  surprised  to  find  a  man  of 
unusual  earnestness  of  life  and  their  re- 
ports ought  to  be  interpreted  in  the  light 
of  their  disappointment,  for  we  shall  see 
that  the  humor  of  Busch  had  its  serious 
background. 

THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF   HUMOR. 

Humor  is  a  rare  treasure  which  we  need 
not  hesitate  to  prize  most  highly  among 
the  very  best  things  of  life.  It  is  none 
of  the  ponderous  gifts  of  heaven,  such  as 
the  serious  religious  ideals;  it  is  not  a 
virtue  in  the  narrow  sense  of  the  word ;  it 
is  not  a  sister  of  that  noble  trio.  Faith, 
Hope  and  Charity;  it  is  not  sublime  and 
lofty,  nor  is  it  grand  and  noble;  it  does 
not  keep  aloof  from  the  common  people 
in  the  humble  walks  of  life;  on  the  con- 
trary it  mingles  freely  with  all  and  in  its 
democratic  judgment  even  seems  to  pre- 


fer  the  association  of  the  lowly.  And  yet 
the  roots  of  humor  go  down  into  the  most 
secret  recesses  of  the  human  heart  and  are 
nourished  by  thoughts  of  a  broad  and  pro- 
found comprehension  of  life. 

The  more  we  investigate  the  nature  of 
humor,  the  more  shall  we  understand  that 
this  its  substratum — we  may  call  it  the 
philosophy  of  humor,  or  if  you  prefer  the 
religion  of  humor,  or  the  serious  back- 
ground which  unnoticeably  gives  humor 
its  setting — is  an  indispensable  part  of  it. 
Without  it  humor  would  be  stale  and  un- 
profitable ;  it  would  fall  flat,  be  like  a  joke 
that  has  no  point,  it  would  be  trite  like 
words  without  meaning,  like  a  game  with- 
out a  purpose;  it  would  merely  be  non- 
sense. 

Humor  as  a  rule  appears  frivolous  and 
flippant  to  the  narrow-minded  bigot  who 
glories  in  vinegar,  and  scowls  at  the  silver 
ring  of  a  laugh  as  an  impious  demon- 
stration; but  experience  will  teach  us 
that  humor  is  the  child  of  grave,  often 
sad,  experience,  that  it  originates  through 
the  wholesome  reaction  of  a  strong  heart 

13 


against  all  the  host  of  sorrows  and  cares 
of  life,  which  vampire-like  suck  from  out 
our  souls  all  vitality  and  the  very  joy  of 
life,  and  would  leave  us  moral  wrecks 
sicklied  over  with  melancholia,  pessimism 
and  misanthropy. 

Humor  has  a  great  task  to  perform,  for 
to  humor  we  owe  the  silver  linings  of  the 
clouds  of  life.  Humor  offers  us  the  in- 
vigorating tonic  that  restores  our  spirits 
and  buoys  us  up  when  fatigue  threatens 
to  overcome  us.  But  in  order  to  be  effec- 
tive humor  should  be  the  expression  of 
a  conviction ;  it  ought  to  reflect  the  world- 
conception  of  a  thinker,  it  must  be  backed 
by  moral  purpose.  This  serious  element 
of  humor  need  not,  nay  it  should  not,  be 
in  ostentatious  evidence,  but  it  can  not  be 
missing,  and  I  would  even  go  so  far  as  to 
insist  that  no  humorist  has  ever  been  suc- 
cessful unless  he  was  at  the  same  time 
consciously  or  unconsciously  a  philos- 
opher. 

Humor  comes  to  us  as  a  liberator. 
When  we  meet  with  reverses,  or  are  per- 
plexed  by   untoward   circumstances,   we 

14 


are  annoyed  and  suffer  bitterly.  It  is  as 
if  a  poisonous  infection  had  gained  en- 
trance into  our  psychical  system,  but  we 
are  cured  as  soon  as  we  can  laugh  at  our 
own  faults  and  follies.  Our  laugh  proves 
that  humor  has  entered  our  soul,  and  hu- 
mor comes  only  to  the  man  who  can  rise 
above  himself.  Humor  is  the  reward  of  a 
philosophical  attitude  in  life.  Yea,  we 
might  say  it  is  the  triumph  of  a  moral 
victory  we  have  won. 

In  my  childhood  I  once  met  a  carpenter 
who  did  odd  jobs  around  the  house.  He 
was  humor  incarnate  for  he  seemed  to  be 
able  to  elicit  smiles  wherever  he  went. 
His  eye  beamed  with  mirth  and  he  saw 
quickly  the  funny  side  of  everything. 
People  said  of  him:  "How  happy  he  is! 
He  must  never  have  seen  misfortune." 
But  when  the  question  was  put  to  him 
he  grew  very  serious  and  answered:  "I 
wish  it  were  so,  but  I  would  better  for- 
bear to  tell  the  tale  of  my  sorrows."  This 
incident  made  a  deep  impression  on  me, 
for  it  proved  that  his  gaiety  merely  re- 
flected the  ills  of  adversity. 

IS 


It  is  not  necessary  that  the  background 
of  humor  should  always  be  misfortune  or 
sad  experiences,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
it  will  always  be  a  recognition  of  the  se- 
rious aspect  of  life,  either  in  thought,  sen- 
timent or  in  action.  And  that  this  is  so 
may  be  seen  in  the  humor  of  Wilhelm 
Busch,  the  greatest  humorist  of  modern 
Germany. 

Wilhelm  Busch's  humorous  writings 
are  the  expression  of  a  world-conception 
which  teaches  us  to  smile  at  the  ills  of 
life,  and  the  author  has  reached  his  point 
of  view  by  rising  above  himself  and  by 
looking  down  upon  the  world  from  a 
standpoint  of  good-natured  and  sympa- 
thetic irony. 

SOME   PERSONAL   REMARKS, 

I  myself  have  never  been  an  enthusi- 
astic admirer  of  Wilhelm  Busch.  I  read 
his  productions  as  they  came  out,  but 
never  paid  any  special  attention  to  them. 
His  wit  is  not  of  the  style  in  which  I 
would  indulge  if  I  were  a  humorist.  Never- 

x6 


theless  I  recognize  in  him  a  genius  of 
uncommon  originality  and  his  fame  is  not 
due  to  accident. 

A  friend  of  mine,  a  university  professor 
and  a  man  of  high  scientific  standing, 
finds  more  in  Wilhelm  Busch's  works 
than  idle  jokes  or  droll  pleasantries.  As 
good  Christians  fall  back  on  the  Bible, 
he  quotes  pertinent  lines  from  Busch  in 
all  the  diverse  situations  of  life,  finding 
in  them  consolation,  or  advice,  or  helpful 
suggestion,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  I  was 
surprised  to  note  how  well  my  friend's 
method  worked.  Certainly  he  accomplished 
the  same  purpose  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
the  authority  to  which  he  resorted  was 
different  from  the  Psalms  or  the  Gospels. 
How  quickly  did  he  recover  from  a  mis- 
hap through  reference  to  a  doggerel  from 
"Hans  Huckelbein";  how  mild  was  his 
judgment  of  an  all  too  human  villainy 
after  the  recitation  of  a  rhyme  from 
"Plisch  und  Plum,"  and  when  one  of  his 
dearest  hopes  remained  unfulfilled,  how 
much  comfort  he  took  in  a  line  from 
"Max  und  Moritz"!    Thus  I  had  an  op- 

17 


portunity  to  observe  that  any  book  may 
serve  us  as  a  Bible  if  we  only  learn  to 
quote  from  it  according  to  our  needs. 

Wilhelm  Busch's  satirical  works  have 
not  been  rendered  into  English  so  far  as 
I  know,  nor  should  they  be  translated  into 
any  language.  They  can  only  lose  thereby. 
The  flavor  of  his  wit  and  the  finest  shades 
of  his  sarcasm  would  be  gone.  Much 
that  is  quite  unobjectionable  in  German 
would  appear  improper  or  even  coarse  in 
English,  and  so  we  believe  that  the  best 
translation  would  be  unfair  to  the  author 
and  would  not  do  justice  to  the  original. 

For  this  reason  we  are  satisfied  with  a 
presentation  of  merely  the  main  ideas  of 
Busch's  little  book,  "Eduards  Traum," 
which  ought  to  be  better  known. 

Let  us  glance  through  its  pages,  and  I 
will  offer  in  a  free  translation  those  pas- 
sages which  appear  to  me  noteworthy; 
and  if  my  readers  understand  German, 
they  may  find  delight  in  reading  the  orig- 
inal. The  perusal  of  these  eighty-five 
pages  will  fully  repay  the  time  spent  on 
them.    The  book  is  worth  having  in  one's 

i8 


library  and  its  place  is  among  the  philos- 
ophers. 

♦     *    * 

In  one  of  his  satires  Horace  praises  the 
art  of  smilingly  speaking  the  truth,  and 
Wilhelm  Busch  has  accomplished  the  task 
in  his  little  book,  "Edward's  Dream." 
The  plot  of  the  little  narrative  is  simple 
enough.  It  is  a  dream,  and  in  this  dream 
the  author  presents  to  the  reader  a  num- 
ber of  philosophical  problems  which  he 
either  solves  in  an  aphoristic  way,  or, 
only  touching  upon  them,  passes  on  to 
other  problems.  He  concludes  his  book- 
let with  the  remark:  "A  book  is  not  an 
"organ  with  which  the  organ  -  grinder 
"mercilessly  tortures  our  ears.  A  book 
"is  even  more  unobtrusive  than  the  pic- 
"ture  on  the  wall,  which  still  looks  down 
"with  a  certain  desire  to  be  noticed.  A 
"book  when  it  lies  before  us  shut,  is  a 
"bound,  sleeping,  and  harmless  animal- 
"cule  which  hurts  no  one.  He  who  does 
"not  rouse  it,  at  him  it  does  not  yawn, 
"nor  will  it  bite  the  man  who  does  not 
"put  his  nose  between  its  jaws." 

19 


EDWARD'S  DREAM. 


21 


EDWARD  FALLS  ASLEEP. 

It  is  bedtime.  Edward  is  still  up.  His 
litte  boy,  Emil,  is  in  bed.  Elise,  his  wife, 
bids  him  good-night  and  retires.  But  Ed- 
ward, in  complacent  rumination,  still  loi- 
ters on  the  limits  of  the  inconceivable. 
He  yawns,  throws  away  the  stump  of  his 
cigar,  takes  the  last  swallow  of  his  even- 
ing drink  (for  we  must  suppose  him  to  be 
a  Bavarian)  and  decides  to  retire  too. 
Having  stared  awhile  into  the  light  of  the 
candle  he  blows  it  out  and  goes  to  bed. 
Before  his  eyes  the  image  of  the  flame 
still  remains,  and  he  begins  to  contem- 
plate it  attentively.  Then  he  experienced 
a  feeling  as  if  his  spirit,  his  soul,  or  what- 
ever you  may  call  it,  began  to  shrink. 
His  ego  became  smaller  and  smaller ;  first 
like  a  potato,  then  like  a  pill,  then  like 
a  pin's  head,  then  still  smaller,  and  at  last 
it  was  a  point.     But  he  was  a  thinking 

23 


point  and  active  he  was  too,  moving  about 
in  all  directions,  manufacturing  his  de- 
mand of  time  and  space  quite  "en  pas- 
sant" as  a  by-product.  In  this  shape  he 
makes  several  excursions. 


24 


I.  THE  WORLD  OF  PURE  FORMS. 

Edward  describes  his  journey  into  the 
land  of  mathematics  as  follows: 

"With  telegraphic  swiftness  of  thought 
I  switched  directly  through  the  wall  and 
found  myself  in  friendly  surroundings.  It 
was  the  domain  of  numbers  where  a 
pretty  little  arithmetical  township  lay. 

"Strange!  in  a  dream  even  flourishes 
have  life. 

"Morning  dawned.  Several  peasants 
in  the  fields  were  husbanding  their  multi- 
plications at  an  early  hour.  These  people 
live  and  multiply  honestly;  they  do  not 
prosper  greatly  but  they  are  frugal. 

"More  pretentious  are  the  officials  of  the 
town.  They  were  talking  about  a  certain 
naught  which  had  blocked  the  way  of 
many  an  honest  fellow,  and  when  one  had 
been  advanced  beyond  his  deserts,  as  they 
thought,  then  it  was  certainly  rumored, 

35 


that  as  sure  as  twice  two  is  four,  the  old 
intriguing  naught  was  behind  him. 

"In  the  fashionable  quarter  live  the 
gentry  who  can  trace  their  lineage  to  the 
oldest  primers.  A  certain  Mr,  X  is  the 
most  sought-after  person  of  all.  But  he 
makes  himself  so  scarce  that  almost  daily 
there  are  a  thousand  fools  who  ask  for 
him,  before  a  wise  man  can  point  him 
out.  Other  algebraical  numbers  are  very 
impertinent.  Two  fellows  whom  I  met 
in  the  park  promenade  introduced  them- 
selves to  me  tv/ice;  first  as  Mr.  A  and 
Mr.  B;  then  again  as  Mr.  B  and  Mr.  A; 
and  they  asked  me  conceitedly  whether  it 
wasn't  all  the  same,  for  A-)-B=^B+A. 
"Tis  all  the  same  to  me,'  I  said  court- 
eously, although  I  knew  that  the  propo- 
sition in  one  respect  had  a  hitch.  But 
even  in  a  dream  we  allow  such  little  in- 
accuracies arising  from  politeness  to  pass 
unchallenged. 

"I  went  to  the  market  where  the  con- 
crete numbers  conducted  their  business. 
Suddenly  a  sausage  came  running  in  hot 
haste,  and  its  price  was  marked  ninety- 

26 


three  cents.  Seventeen  young  tailors  came 
running  after  her  with  open  shears  and 
open  mouths  trying  to  catch  her.  *We 
have  paid  our  money,'  they  shouted,  'and 
now  snip  snap  we  will  divide.'  'That 
won't  do,'  gasped  the  sausage,  which  per- 
spired fatty  drops  in  her  agony,  for  the 
tailors  had  already  pricked  her  with  their 
shears  and  had  made  thirty-four  holes. 

"At  this  moment  an  expert  accountant 
came.  He  wore  yellow  pants,  forty-five 
cents  a  yard,  a  hired  dress  suit,  and  un- 
paid-for  stove-pipe  hat;  he  made  a  false 
equation  and  brought  the  sausage  on  his 
side ;  but  the  tailors  did  not  like  the  joke. 
They  cut  off  the  tails  of  his  evening  dress, 
ripped  the  buttons  from  his  pants,  and 
had  he  not  speedily  withdrawn,  leaving 
the  sausage  behind,  they  would  have  dis- 
severed him.  Before  they  could  again 
attack  the  sausage,  the  wife  of  the  butcher, 
two  hundred  and  fifty-seven  pounds  liv- 
ing weight,  appeared  and  caused  great 
consternation,  for  she  said  she  had  seen 
no  money  and  to  give  up  ninety-three 


27 


cents  for  nothing  was  against  her  human 
shortage. 

"At  once  all  the  clattering  shears  were 
turned  against  the  round  sum  of  the 
buxom  butcher's  wife,  and  the  tumult  was 
great.  The  crowd  was  swelled  by  fifty 
salted  herrings,  two  score  and  ten  eggs, 
three  dozen  cheeses,  one  bottle  of  whis- 
key, three-quarters  of  a  pound  of  table- 
butter,  six  pounds  of  cooking-butter,  fif- 
teen ounces  of  snuff,  and  numerous  dittos. 
Endangered  by  the  points  of  the  shears 
the  butcher's  wife  retreated.  She  stepped 
into  the  three-quarters  of  a  pound  of 
table-butter,  fell  down  upon  the  six 
pounds  of  cooking-butter,  and  while  fal- 
ling she  drew  two  ounces  of  snuff  up 
her  nostrils  and  began  to  sneeze,  in  con- 
sequence whereof  she  turned  a  somer- 
sault, squeezing  three  cheeses,  and  break- 
ing the  bottle  of  whiskey.  When  she 
alighted  on  the  ground  her  heavy  heels 
smashed  two  herrings  so  that  their  poor 
souls  fled  out  of  their  salted  bodies. 

"But  when  the  complication  was  at  its 
height,  the  crowd  dispersed,  for  a  new 

28 


and  superior  magnitude,  the  town  police, 
appeared  upon  the  scene.  The  tailors 
made  themselves  as  thin  as  they  could, 
and  the  butcher's  wife  raised  the  sausage 
in  her  right  hand,  exclaiming:  'There  is 
no  justice  left  in  the  town;  that's  what  I 
say.'  But  the  town  police  understood  his 
duty,  noted  down  the  two  herrings  who 
had  lost  their  souls,  kept  the  cheeses,  the 
butter,  and  the  glass  splinters  in  his  head, 
added  the  woman  and  the  sausage,  put 
them  in  brackets,  transported  them  to  the 
town  scales,  where  one  was  found  too 
heavy  and  the  other  too  light,  and  sub- 
traction was  inevitable.  The  sausage  was 
subtracted  for  the  exchequer.  The  re- 
mainder was  canceled  crosswise  thrice 
three  times  in  ink  for  contempt  of  court, 
and  the  brave  town  policeman  was  raised 
to  the  third  power  on  the  very  same  day 
by  the  infinitely  great  mayor  of  the  town. 
Several  other  cases  were  attended  to  be- 
fore the  treasurer  with  the  same  prompti- 
tude." 

The  town  contains  beautiful  parks  and 
orchards  full  of  golden  percentages,  and 


29 


the  dividends  go  up  and  down  on  paper 
ladders.  Some  of  them  were  seen  drop- 
ping to  the  ground,  and  they  stroked  their 
bruised  parts  and  limped  drearily  home. 
There  is  also  enough  grief  and  misery 
displayed  on  all  corners  of  the  streets. 
One  can  see  fractured  numbers,  swollen 
denominators  who  carry  small  numera- 
tors on  their  backs.  How  pitiful  they 
look!  "But,"  adds  Edward,  "I  remained 
cool.  I  had  no  money  with  me,  and  if  I 
had  had  some  I  would  not  have  given 
them  anything.  I  had  changed  my  char- 
acter. For  wherever  there  is  need  of  it 
I  do  not  mind  a  few  pennies;  that  you 
know,  my  friends." 

*     *     * 

Edward  now  came  among  the  points, 
a  buoyant  people  who  Vv^ere  just  practis- 
ing sharp-shooting.  "The  smaller  these 
folks,"  he  tells  us,  "the  greater  is  their 
pleasure."  They  were  crawling  and 
squirming  like  merry  infusoria  in  an  old 
barrel  of  rain-water. 

"Like  mosquitoes,  the  thinking-points 

30 


were  dancing  with  their  beloved  little 
ideas,  and  I  myself  engaged  one,  and 
waltzed  around  a  few  times.  Still  nim- 
bler than  they  and  windier  in  the  terpsi- 
chorean  art  were  the  purely  mathematical 
points,  but  they  were  so  bashful  that  they 
became  smaller  and  smaller  the  more  one 
looked  at  them.  One  of  them  disappeared 
entirely  when  I  looked  at  him  very  closely. 

"Queer  fellows,  this  sort  of  points.  Old 
Brennecke,  my  mathematical  professor, 
used  to  say:  'Whoever  cannot  think  a 
point  is  simply  too  lazy.'  I  have  often 
since  tried,  but  just  when  I  think  I  have 
it,  I  have — nothing.  And  we  have  the 
same  experience  with  all  things ;  as  soon 
as  we  look  at  them  more  closely,  when 
we  are  about  to  seize  them  with  the  ten- 
derest  comprehension,  they  secretly  with- 
draw into  the  corner  of  the  incomprehen- 
sible and  disappear  without  leaving  any- 
thing behind,  like  the  enchanted  rabbit 
whom  the  hunter  can  never  hit. 

"There  were  also  some  critical  points 
making  mischievous  faces  and  impeding 
every  one  wherever  they  went.     One  of 

31 


them,  an  impudent  fellow,  stepped  upon 
the  train  of  a  beautiful  young  idea  and  at 
the  same  time  upon  the  corn  of  her  part- 
ner, the  thinking-point;  this  insolent  be- 
haviour interrupted  all  his  arguments,  and 
he  began  to  scream.  That  was  the  signal 
for  a  lively  scandal,  for  all  the  points  of 
dispute  and  the  points  of  honor  inter- 
fered, to  the  great  delight  of  the  spec- 
tators." 

*     ^:     >:: 

Continuing  his  journey,  Edward  came 
to  the  atoms,  who  were  just  beginning  a 
square  dance. 

"With  great  assurance  they  danced  their 
complex  molecular  figures,  and  when  they 
were  through,  all  had  grown  pretty  warm. 
They  are  not  quite  so  stupid  as  one  is  in- 
clined to  believe,  and  are  quite  interest- 
ing, as  well  as  interested  themselves,  for 
tender  love-affairs  are  not  rare  among 
them. 

"One  of  the  ladies  among  the  atoms 
seemed  familiar  to  me.  I  must  have  seen 
her,  and,  really!  I  remember,  at  Leib- 
nitz's!    It  was  the  old  monad,  and  she 


32 


had  grown  quite  young  again.  She  ap- 
proached me,  shook  hands,  and  held  me 
with  her  unsubstantial  affinities,  and 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  my  lips,  saying :  'My 
dear  friend,  let  us  be  eternally  united.' 
But  I  was  repelled.  With  great  rapidity 
I  shot  through  the  roof  and  hastened 
away  to  distant  spheres.  When  I  looked 
round  I  was  not  quite  alone,  for  right  near 
I  heard  a  cough.  It  was  the  mathematical 
point  whom  I  had  tried  to  look  at,  and  he 
said:  'At  home  I  cannot  get  on;  now  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do  in  the  geometrical 
plane.'  " 

s'j       :;:       ^ 

The  geometrical  plane  lay  before  our 
romantic  traveler  in  the  splendor  of  the 
sinking  evening  sun.  No  tree,  no  bush, 
no  chimney  loomed  up.  All  was  flat  as 
a  pan-cake ;  nay,  a  thousand  times  flatter. 
And  they  were  standing  at  the  entrance 
of  an  industrious  city  which  lay  flat  on 
its  side.  The  door  through  which  they 
passed  had  only  breadth,  no  height.  "It 
was  so  low,"  says  Edward,  "that  my  pate 
was  grazed,  and  even  my  tiny  companion 


33 


could  just  pass  through.  He  got  an  ap- 
pointment that  very  same  evening  with 
an  able  geometer  who  took  him  at  once 
into  his  drawing-pen  in  order  to  transfer 
him  to  the  place  of  his  future  activity. 
I  wished  him  all  success,  but  I  myself 
went  to  the  hotel,  where  the  waiter  ap- 
peared as  a  straight  mathematical  line. 
Nothing  could  be  more  slender,  and  I 
thought  of  what  my  little  nephew,  Peter, 
once  said.  'Uncle  Edward,'  he  said,  *a 
ghost  must  be  real  slim  for  one  doesn't 
see  it  at  all.' 

"How  ridiculously  thin  such  a  mathe- 
matical line  is!  In  the  room  next  to  me 
there  were  thirty  in  one  bed,  which  was 
not  broader  than  a  cigar-case,  and  yet 
there  was  plenty  of  space  left.  At  first 
they  were  quarrelling,  for  there  was  a 
Pole  among  them  who  suffered  from 
nightmares  and  was  very  restless  until 
he  was  nailed  tight  by  two  points;  then 
he  became  quiet.  I  tried  to  pronounce 
his  name,  Chr — rrr — rrrr,  but  at  that  mo- 
ment I  heard  a  voice  saying,  'Edward,  do 
not  snore.'    It  was  the  voice  of  my  wife, 


34 


I  awoke  for  a  moment  but  soon  fell  asleep 
again." 

Edward  slept  in  the  hotel  and  when  he 
awoke  the  next  morning  in  the  geomet- 
rical plane,  he  found  that  everybody  had 
to  crawl  around  on  his  stomach.  "High 
and  low  are  difficult  to  distinguish  at 
first  sight,  and  if  one  has  cause  to  be 
polite  one  must  look  out  with  great  cir- 
cumspection, for  as  there  is  no  height, 
there  are  no  shadows,  and  everybody,  even 
the  most  square  fellow  of  great  contents 
appears  as  a  simple  line.  The  absence  of 
shadow  makes  photography  impossible, 
and  the  people  of  this  city  have  to  forego 
the  ornament  of  pictures  in  their  rooms. 
But  they  do  as  well  as  they  can.  They 
call  in  the  carpenter,  they  measure  their 
friends,  and  make  a  proportional  figure  in 
the  album,  noting  the  real  square  contents 
together  with  the  year  and  date,  and  the 
memorial  is  ready. 

"Some  of  the  inhabitants  told  me  that 
a  few  postmen  had  become  so  thin  by 
constant  crawling  on  their  stomachs  that 
in  their  old  age  they  were  only  half  as  thin 


35 


as  possible.  This  seemed  to  me  remark- 
able on  account  of  congruence,  for  if  the 
report  was  correct  an  actual  congruence 
of  equal  figures  which  appeared  to  me  at 
this  highly  depressed  locality  impossible, 
did  not  seem  to  be  excluded  under  all  cir- 
cumstances. I  inquired  for  the  congru- 
ence office,  an  institution  which  is  simi- 
lar to  the  county  clerk's  office  where  mar- 
riage licences  are  given.  As  no  one  could 
give  me  any  information  I  went  to  the 
mayor  and  was  told,  'We  have  no  such 
nonsense;  any  one  anxious  for  such  an 
experience,  especially  if  it  be  a  case  of 
symmetrical  congruence,  will  please  go 
to  the  third  dimension.' 

"As  the  atmosphere  in  the  mayor's  of- 
fice was  very  close  I  bade  him  good-bye 
and  went  through  the  ceiling  into  tri- 
dimensional space  where  stereometric  lib- 
erty prevails  and  where  spatially  sympa- 
thetic couples  have  the  licence  of  marriage 
relations.  But  even  here  no  exceptions 
were  allowed. 

"I  just  saw  two  spherical  triangles,  one 
the  exact  reflected   image  of  the  other. 

36 


They  returned  in  tears  from  the  congru- 
ence office  where  they  had  been  refused. 
A  pair  of  infinitely  delicate  gloves,  one 
left  one  and  one  right  one,  were  grooms- 
man and  bridesmaid,  and  they  comforted 
the  unfortunate  couple,  saying  that  they 
were  in  the  same  predicament  and  if  there 
was  no  other  hope  they  could  after  all 
elope  into  the  fourth  dimension  where 
nothing  was  impossible.  *Alas!'  sighed 
the  bride,  'who  knows  what  the  fourth 
dimension  is  like?'  One  might  have  pitied 
the  poor  people  but  we  must  not  be  too 
quick  with  our  sympathy,  for  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  unsubstantial  country  are 
hollow,  sun  and  moon  shine  through  them, 
and  any  one  who  stands  behind  them  can 
easily  count  the  buttons  on  their  vests  in 
front.  They  look  through  one  another, 
and  yet  these  people  who  have  as  little 
contents  as  a  cleaned-out  sparrow's  egg, 
talk  about  the  noble  aspirations  of  their 
souls  and  carry  on  conversation  in  the 
most  refined  phraseology.  I  got  sick  of 
this  conceited  world  of  empty  figures  and 
hurried  away. 


37 


"When  about  to  leave  I  was  addressed 
in  a  deep  sonorous  bass  by  a  gentleman 
who  was  so  round  and  thick  that  he  al- 
most took  up  the  whole  space  of  the  exit. 
It  was  my  former  companion,  the  mathe- 
matical point.  By  a  clever  turn  in  the 
plane  he  had  become  a  circle,  and  on  emi- 
grating into  tri-dimensional  space  he  had, 
by  another  turn,  developed  into  a  sphere. 
He  was  now  on  his  way  to  a  spiritualistic 
medium  for  materialization,  intending  to 
go  as  a  globe  to  a  high-school.  The  un- 
important little  fellow  had  become  a  regu- 
lar snob  who  began  to  treat  me  conde- 
scendingly. That  was  too  much  for  me. 
I  did  not  intend  to  suffer  it  from  a  puffed- 
up  point,  for  such  are  all  these  people. 
I  turned  and  went  through  the  wall  where 
I  supposed  that  the  complete  world  of 
reality  lay,  but  even  this  was  only  in 
parts." 

Having  accompanied  the  sagacious 
dreamer  through  the  land  of  pure  forms, 
let  us  follow  him  into  a  more  real  realm ; 
but  here  still  he  finds  existence  in  parts 
only. 

38 


II.  EXISTENCES  THAT  ARE  IN  PART. 

Edward  first  visits  the  community  of 
heads.  These  live  in  nests  in  a  high  me- 
diaeval place,  and  behind  their  ears  they 
have  wings  which  are  an  appropriate  ad- 
aptation of  their  neck  muscles.  Some  sit 
around  marshes;  they  are  the  water- 
heads.  They  blink  drowsily  with  their 
eyes  and  let  the  sun  shine  into  their 
mouths.  Then,  there  are  the  head-strong 
who  possess  the  vanity  of  their  own  opin- 
ion in  spite  of  argument,  wrangling  and 
quarreling  in  the  air.  Almost  every  one 
of  them  had  bruises,  black  and  blue.  They 
live  on  wind  and  earn  their  living  as 
stump-orators  and  singers  in  dime-mu- 
seums. 

In  a  place  that  looked  somewhat  like 
the  agricultural  department  of  Washing- 
ton, Edward  saw  an  ugly  old  man  with 
a  large  face  and  a  tiny  body,   busying 

39 


himself  with  a  large  hotbed  in  which  a 
kind  of  asparagus  grew.  "What  are  you 
doing  here?"  asked  Edward,  and  the  little 
man  with  the  big  face  said :  "I  am  raising 
heads.  These  are  the  best  I  have.  They 
will  be  used  as  heads  of  the  different  de- 
partments in  the  government  service.  I 
deliver  them  in  good  condition,  but  when 
they  have  been  used  awhile  they  are  no 
longer  good.  Some  turn  tough,  others 
become  regular  loggerheads !  But  they 
are  very  valuable,  for  they  make  much 
noise  in  the  world  and  are  sought  for  by 
collectors  of  historical  curios." 

There  were  further  all  kinds  of  events 
coming  to  a  head  but  they  looked  very 
ugly  and  Edward  passed  them  by. 

Lower  down,  on  a  mountain-range, 
hands  were  living  as  scribblers,  scrubbers, 
stocking  knitters,  stringed  -  instrument 
musicians,  and  other  trades.  The  feet  are 
at  home  in  the  valley. 

Leaving  the  land  of  separate  limbs,  our 
tramping  dreamer  visits  a  village  and  de- 
scribes its  still-life.  There  were  three 
merry  flies  swarming  over  a  pond,  three 

40 


joyous  little  fish  caught  them.  A  moment 
later  three  ducks  came  along;  each  duck 
snatched  a  fish  and  swallowed  it.  The 
farmer's  good-natured  wife  appeared  in 
the  door  of  the  house  and  with  a  few 
crumbs  of  bread  enticed  the  three  ducks 
into  the  kitchen.  Then  she  seized  them 
and  cut  their  throats,  but  being  too  hasty 
she  cut  her  finger  at  the  same  time. 

The  hatchet  was  rusty  and  the  finger 
began  to  swell.  There  were  symptoms  of 
blood  poisoning;  the  doctor  came.  He 
understood  the  case.  He  cut  off  her  fin- 
ger, but  it  wouldn't  do ;  he  cut  off  her  arm, 
but  it  wouldn't  do ;  he  cut  off  her  head, 
but  it  wouldn't  do;  he  cut  off  her  waist, 
but  it  wouldn't  do;  he  cut  off  her  knees, 
but  it  wouldn't  do;  and  when  he  came  to 
her  sensitive  corns  a  shriek  was  heard 
and  she  was  dead. 

The  farmer  would  not  be  comforted, 
for  the  doctor's  fee  was  $53.75.  The  doc- 
tor put  the  honorarium  into  his  pocket- 
book  and  the  farmer  sighed.  The  doctor 
put  the  pocket-book  into  his  pocket  and 
the  farmer  fainted  upon  a  chair,  staring 

41 


into  emptiness.  The  doctor  was  a  man 
of  the  world.  Slowly  he  rode  away,  nor 
did  he  begin  to  trot  until  he  was  out  of 
sight.  He  was  wholly  unaware  that  his 
pocket  had  a  hole  in  it.  The  disconsolate 
widower  went  to  the  pig-pen  and  looked 
at  the  pigs.  There  were  thirteen  of  them, 
each  worth  $11.25.  His  tears  began  to 
dry  and  when  he  came  out  again  he  had 
become  a  new  man. 

Edward  now  left  the  farm  house  and 
went  to  one  of  the  neighbors.  It  was  the 
uncle  of  the  farmer.  Having  just  returned 
unsteadily  from  a  long  sitting  at  the  inn 
he  entered  the  room  where  his  numerous 
family  awaited  him  in  dread.  The  old 
man  threw  his  hat  upon  the  ground  and 
shouted,  "He  who  takes  that  hat  up  will 
be  thrashed;  he  who  lets  it  lie,  will  be 
thrashed,  too."  He  was  a  very  reliable 
man  and  he  kept  his  word. 

Having  witnessed  this  sad  spectacle, 
the  pensive  traveler  sighs  and  says :  "Alas ! 
my  dear  reader,  how  often  does  fate  throw 
before  us  his  tragic  hat,  and  whatever  we 
do  we  shall  have  trouble." 


42 


Continuing  the  story  of  his  travel,  our 
dreamer  finds  himself  confronted  by  a 
philosopher  whose  greatness  consists  in 
creating  problems  where  there  are  none. 
Edward  says :  "I  went  to  the  neighboring 
farm.  A  thoughtful  old  man  stood  in  the 
cow-stable  which  he  had  just  cleaned,  and 
he  closed  the  barn-shutters.  'Strange,' 
he  said,  resting  his  chin  upon  the  dung- 
fork.  'Strange,  very  strange!  Indeed, 
extraordinary!  If  I  close  the  barn-shut- 
ters it  grows  dark !'  And  so  he  stood  for 
a  long  time  and  thought  and  thought. 
As  if  there  were  not  worries  enough  in  the 
world  without  that!  And  it  was  very 
dark  in  his  mind  and  also  in  the  cow- 
stable." 

In  another  farm-house  our  all-observ- 
ing dreamer  finds  the  dainty  little  daugh- 
ter of  the  farmer  sitting  at  the  piano. 
There  is  a  knock  at  the  door.  "Is  your 
father  at  home?"  asks  the  man  who  buys 
sheep.  "No,  sir,"  she  replied,  in  a  lady- 
like way,  "papa  is  hauling  dung."  What 
a  pleasant  instance  of  increasing  culture. 


43 


which  still  has  something  of  the  strong 
odor  of  the  soil  from  which  it  sprang ! 

We  pass  over  a  number  of  pictures  of 
Edward's  dream,  which  show  us  an  in- 
cendiary firing  his  barn;  several  topers, 
one  of  whom  pays  the  bill  with  counter- 
feit money ;  a  broom-maker  who  finds  the 
doctor's  pocket-book,  and,  having  hidden 
it  in  his  boot,  meets  the  doctor  returning 
on  his  horse  in  full  speed.  "Did  you  find 
anything?"  asked  the  doctor.  "No,  sir," 
replied  the  broom-maker  with  composure, 
and  as  the  doctor  hastens  on,  thinks  to 
himself,  "that  will  be  a  lesson  to  him." 
In  this  way  a  wise  man  had  given  to  an 
inexperienced  fellow  a  valuable  lesson 
wtihout  bringing  him  into  the  painful 
situation  of  expressing  his  thanks — a  good 
deed,  which  is  the  more  remarkable  as  he 
never  bragged  of  it. 

Wherever  Edward  goes  he  finds  the 
world  interesting,  not  less  so  than  the 
refined  farmer  who  met  him  on  the  way, 
and  had  just  been  looking  at  his  potatoes, 
which  were  doing  splendidly.  The  sun 
shone  through  his  transparent  ears,  and 

44 


he  was  happy,  shouting  in  ecstasy:  "O, 
how  beautiful  is  the  world,  how  beauti- 
ful!" 

*     *     * 

After  some  other  excursions,  Edward 
visited  the  temple  of  science.  There  he 
saw  the  high-minded  investigators  sitting 
among  their  microscopes,  retorts,  and 
guinea-pigs.  Considering  the  use,  the  en- 
hancement, and  all  the  other  advantages 
which  mankind  owes  them,  and  also  their 
own  well-deserved  pride,  he  left  their 
sanctum  with  suppressed  reverence.  But 
he  overheard  a  critic — for  flies  are  every- 
where— say  to  another  critic  who  passed 
him:  "There  are  numbers  in  their  heads, 
and  bacilli  in  their  hearts.  They  grind 
everything  to  powder — God,  spirit,  and 
Shakespeare,  and  then  the  broom-guard, 
those  sages  who  sweep  together  the  offal 
from  the  back-doors  of  centuries" — Here 
the  critic  interrupted  himself  and  ex- 
claimed: "Do  you  see  that  milk-cart?  The 
billy-goat  that  draws  it  looks  as  proud 
as  if  he  produced  the  milk  himself." 

In  the  art-museum  the  old  masters  had 


45 


been  newly  varnished.  Among  the  new 
artists  were  the  naturalists,  one  of  whom 
protested  that  he  preferred  one  natural 
peasant-girl  standing  knee-deep  in  the 
mud  to  eleven  thousand  embalmed  prin- 
cesses dancing  upon  wires.  "Nature,"  he 
began  to  sing,  "nothing  but  naturrrre!" 
The  other  naturalists  fell  in  and  Edward 
joined  the  chorus.  "Naturrre,"  he  sang, 
"Naturrre!" 

The  dreamer  was  poked  again  by  his 
wife  who  said:  "Dear  me,  Edward!  How 
terribly  you  snore!" 

Edward  did  not  allow  his  dream  to  be 
disturbed.  At  the  art-museum  he  saw  an 
old  ruffian  who  looked  at  the  pictures  and 
was  morally  disgusted  with  them.  His 
name  is  The-man-with-the-dirty-spec- 
tacles,  for  the  dirt  that  he  finds  he  brings 
with  him. 

In  the  world  of  politics  Edward  ob- 
served that  Bismarck  had  just  left  the 
driver's  box  and  resigned  the  reins  of  the 
world.  Surely  that  would  create  a  com- 
motion! But  no,  the  world  is  like  a  pot 
of  porridge.    If  you  take  the  spoon  out, 

46 


and  be  it  the  largest,  the  whole  business 
will  close  up  again,  and  be  as  if  nothing 
had  happened. 

While  still  moved  in  thought,  Edward, 
after  having  seen  many  marvelous  and 
glorious  things,  greatly  desired  to  see 
once  in  his  life  a  really  good  man.  He 
said  to  himself:  "I  am  not  especially  an- 
xious to  see  him;  it  is  only  for  the  sake 
of  completeness." 

Now  our  dreamer  was  told  that  there 
was  a  kind  philanthropist  whose  posses- 
sions weighed  upon  him  like  a  burden, 
and  distributing  them  was  his  greatest 
pleasure.     Edward  went  to  see  him. 

The  philanthropist  had  just  gathered 
up  five  tramps  from  the  street.  "Breth- 
ren," he  said,  mildly,  "make  yourselves 
at  home.  We  will  all  be  equal."  The 
tramps  were  satisfied.  They  ate  together, 
they  drank  together,  they  smoked  to- 
gether, and  they  decided  that  on  the  next 
morning  they  would  shine  their  shoes  to- 
gether. 

The  case  was  so  remarkable  that  Ed- 
ward stayed  until  the  next  morning.    On 

47 


the  next  morning  the  six  gentlemen  met 
at  the  breakfast  table,  and  when  the  phi- 
lanthropist saw  his  five  brethren  decently 
dressed  in  good  clothes  like  himself  a  tear 
was  in  his  eye,  and  shaking  hands  with 
them  he  expressed  his  joy  that  every  one 
was  now  satisfied.  Then  one  of  them, 
formerly  a  mason,  cleared  his  throat  and 
said :  "Well,  that  is  so ;  however,  as  you, 
my  brother,  have  had  so  much  more  spare 
time  for  being  satisfied  than  we,  it  would 
be  but  reasonable  that  we  should  now 
have  a  correspondingly  better  time  than 
you."  The  philanthropist  was  a  just  man, 
and  another  tear  came  to  his  eye.  He 
nodded  his  consent.  So  everybody  took 
his  mocha,  except  the  philanthropist; 
everybody  took  a  cognac,  except  the  phi- 
lanthropist; everybody  smoked  his  Ha- 
vana, except  the  philanthropist ;  and  after 
breakfast  no  one  shined  the  shoes  except 
the  philanthropist.  When  he  now  saw 
his  five  brethren  better  dressed  than  him- 
self, a  third  tear  stood  in  his  eye,  and  em- 
bracing them,  he  expressed  his  joy  that 
at  last  everybody  was  satisfied. 

48 


Then  the  mason  again  cleared  his  throat 
and  said:  That  may  be  so,  but  he  should 
now  step  under  the  window,  for  they 
wanted  to  spit  on  his  head  and  see  whether 
their  brother  was  still  proud.  The  phi- 
lanthropist had  a  fourth  tear  in  his  eye, 
and  he  declined.  When  his  five  brethren 
observed  that  he  objected,  they  seized 
him  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  made 
him  "walk  proudly,"  as  they  called  it. 
They  carried  him  down  into  the  hall, 
whipped  him  one,  two,  three  times,  still 
keeping  him  suspended,  and  at  three 
threw  him  out  of  the  door  of  his  house 
into  the  yard  where  he  frightened  a  cow ; 
and  while  the  poor  fellow  was  lying  in 
the  mud,  the  four  tears  which  had  gath- 
ered in  his  eyes  broke  out  at  once  and  he 
began  to  swear.  What  a  disappointment 
to  Edward  who  now  clearly  recognized 
that  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  the  philan- 
thropist was  not  really  a  good  man.  He 
who  wants  to  follow  equality  through 
thick  and  thin  must  have  high  boots. 

But  after  all  Edward  in  his  dream  did 
not  give  up  finding  a  good  man.    He  fol- 

49 


lowed  into  a  stately  residence  a  collector 
who  had  a  list  of  names  in  his  hands.  The 
owner  gave  him  a  quarter  for  foreign  mis- 
sions and  a  dime  for  home  missions,  and 
having  done  so,  fell  a-dreaming  when  the 
collector  had  left,  saying,  "I  am  too  good, 
I  am  much  too  good."  So  much  was  he 
overcome  with  the  almost  criminal  kind- 
ness of  his  heart. 

Now  Edward  was  satisfied.  He  had 
seen  a  good  man,  a  man  who  was  even 
more  than  good. 


Having  taken  a  trip  into  vacuity  in 
order  to  see  whether  or  not  the  world  had 
an  end,  and  having  returned  along  the 
heavenly  axis  at  the  polar  star,  the  rest- 
less wanderer  came  back  to  our  little 
earth  and  reached  a  place  where  every- 
body was  in  a  state  of  indolent  happiness. 
The  people  had  invented  great  burning- 
glasses  to  collect  the  sun-heat  sufficient 
for  all  the  machinery,  stoves,  lamps,  and 
kitchens  that  were  needed  in  the  country, 
and  in  addition  enough  power  for  pur- 

50 


poses  of  amusement,  and  everybody  was 
taken  care  of  by  the  national  administra- 
tion. There  were  no  thieves,  for  there 
was  no  need  of  stealing.  And  if  on  account 
of  weakness  of  mind  somebody  took  some 
such  thing  as  a  cigar  from  his  neighbor, 
he  was  treated  in  an  asylum  and  cured 
by  kindness  and  benevolent  treatment.  All 
troubles  were  done  away  with;  death 
alone  could  not  be  banished. 

"That  is  all  very  fine,"  thought  Edward, 
"but  are  not  the  stupid  people  envious 
when  comparing  themselves  with  clever 
folks,  and  the  ugly  with  the  beautiful?" 
— "Well,"  replied  one  of  the  people,  "for- 
merly it  was  bad  enough  and  we  had 
much  trouble.  But  now  all  that  is  past 
since  the  competition  gland  has  been  dis- 
covered." Then  he  explained  that  this 
injurious  organ  has  its  seat  deep  in  the 
brain  behind  the  ear,  and  its  extirpation 
is  obligatory.  The  success  justifies  the 
method.  There  was  no  envy,  no  pride, 
no  ambition;  and  the  good  Lord  and  the 
ten  commandments  had  become  redun- 
dant.   It  was  only  a  pity  that  all  laughter 

51 


had  ceased.  True,  there  were  laughing- 
clubs,  but  the  laughter  which  they  prac- 
tised was  wooden  and  hypocritical,  it  was 
not  natural.  The  genuine  joy  in  mani- 
festing our  abilities  which  make  us  strong 
to  endure  competition  could  not  obtain 
under  these  well-regulated  conditions. 
There  was  a  certain  soft  monotony  which 
it  appears  even  the  inhabitants  of  this 
country  could  appreciate  only  with  diffi- 
culty, for  on  almost  every  tree  of  their 
fine  parks  hung  some  one  who  had  grown 
sick  of  life.  The  people,  to  be  sure  walked 
through  the  parks  and  did  not  mind,  but 
Edward  could  not  stand  it.  He  left  and 
went  to  see  a  philosopher. 


In  the  next  episode  of  Edward's  dream- 
experiences  Wilhelm  Busch  ridicules  the 
materialist's  world-conception  which  re- 
duces all  processes  of  the  world  to  matter 
and  motion,  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  in 
sentiments,  thoughts,  and  ideal  aspira- 
tions, the  material  and  mechanical  aspect 
of  an  event  is  its  most  unessential  feature. 


52 


Ideas  cannot  be  explained  by,  or  classi- 
fied under,  the  categories  of  matter  and 
motion.  And  Busch  is  right,  for  in  the 
spiritual  world  another  and  more  subtle 
element  enters,  which,  although  it  appears 
to  a  materialistic  conception  as  non-ex- 
istent, is  after  all  the  most  important  real- 
ity of  life. 

*     *     * 

Edward  entered  the  philosopher's  study 
and  was  courteously  received.  Three  par- 
rots were  swinging  on  perches.  The  phi- 
losopher wore  a  red  cap  with  a  green 
feather,  a  gown  of  moleskin,  trousers  of 
buckskin,  and  slippers  of  crocodile  skin. 
He  had  several  remarkable  curiosities  in 
his  collection  which  he  was  kind  enough 
to  show.  The  three  parrots  swung  them- 
selves on  perches  in  his  study  and  re- 
peated every  word  he  said. 

"Now  look,"  the  philosopher  began,  "at 
this  automatic  piece  of  art."  It  was  a 
crane  standing  in  a  dish  full  of  water 
containing  an  eel.  The  philosopher  wound 
the  mechanism  and  the  crane  bowed 
down,  caught  the  eel,  lifted  him  up  and 

53 


swallowed  him.  While  still  standing  in 
thought  as  if  satisfied,  the  eel  glided  out 
at  the  next  moment  from  behind,  and 
again  with  unfailing  certainty  the  long- 
billed  bird  caught  him,  swallowed  him, 
and  waited  for  further  consequences.  The 
eel  returned  to  the  water  in  the  same  way 
to  be  devoured  again  in  the  same  fashion, 
and  thus  the  circle  continued.  "This," 
said  the  master,  "is  the  circuity  of  things." 
The  philosopher  now  took  an  insignifi- 
cant looking  utensil  from  his  cabinet.  It 
was  a  blowing-mill.  He  dusted  it  and 
said  with  importance:  "This,  my  friend, 
is  the  thing-in-itself  which  before  me  no 
one  has  understood."  He  pressed  a  but- 
ton and  the  mill  began  to  fan,  producing 
upon  Edward  a  pleasant  feeling  as  if  some 
one  was  tickling  him  behind  the  ears. 
The  philosopher  pressed  the  button  a 
second  time  and  a  palatable  dinner  ap- 
peared. He  pressed  a  third  time  and  an 
agreeable  odor  arose.  He  pressed  a  fourth 
time  and  fine  music  was  heard;  a  fifth 
time  and  fire  -  works  began  to  play. 
"Thus,"  the  poUte  host  explained,  "every- 


54 


thing  that  happens  between  us  and  the 
things  is  nothing  but  motion,  now  quicker, 
now  slower,  now  in  a  medium  of  ether, 
now  of  air  which  may  be  thicker  or  thin- 
ner. 

"But  how  is  it  with  thoughts?"  Edward 
asked  the  master.  "It  is  the  same  with 
thoughts,"  replied  he.  "You  will  see  at 
once."  He  put  his  blowing-mill  away 
and  handed  Edward  a  wind-mill.  It  was 
small  and  built  after  the  pattern  of  those 
little  instruments  which  are  fastened  to 
cherry-trees  to  keep  the  sparrows  away — 
only  smaller  and  with  wings  of  paper. 
Placing  this  mill  before  Edward  he  said: 
"Well,  my  friend,  now  think  deftly."  Ed- 
ward began  to  think  and  thought  as  much 
as  he  could,  and  the  more  sturdily  he 
thought  the  brisker  the  paper  wings  of 
the  mill  turned  round  and  they  clattered 
so  that  even  an  old  experienced  sparrow 
would  not  have  dared  to  approach.  "The 
more  wind  the  more  noise,"  said  the  sage 
in  explanation. 

"But  the  joys  and  the  pains  of  our 
heart,"   the    inquisitive  visitor   retorted, 

55 


"are  they  nothing  but  motion  also?"  "Cer- 
tainly," the  wise  man  said,  "only  they 
turn  in  the  screw  fashion."  Then  he  took 
from  his  shelf  a  dainty  holder  in  which 
lay  horizontally  a  corkscrew  that  could 
be  turned  by  a  crank.  "Well?"  queried 
Edward,  expectantly.  "Sit  down  here," 
said  the  philosopher,  considerately;  "I  no- 
tice your  constitution  is  a  little  abnormal. 
Take  a  seat  here,  this  is  a  chair  of  higher 
sensitiveness." 

It  was  a  softly  upholstered  easy-chair, 
and  the  master  approached  his  visitor 
screw  in  hand,  turning  it  forward.  What 
a  painful  sensation  pierced  his  innermost 
being!  He  felt  like  screaming  aloud.  It 
was  as  if  his  old  great-aunt  had  died. 
"Pain  is  positive,"  said  the  master,  "but 
now  we  will  turn  the  screw  backwards." 
The  pain  disappeared,  and  an  unexpected 
happiness  streamed  through  Edward's 
whole  system.  It  was  as  if  the  good  de- 
ceased aunt  had  left  him  a  fortune  of  half 
a  million.  "Joy  is  negative,"  explained 
the  philosopher,  and  returned  the  soul- 
screw  to  its  former  place. 

56 


Not  to  exhaust  the  patience  of  his  host, 
Edward  thought  it  time  to  take  his  leave. 
But  the  philosopher  said:  "One  thing 
more,"  and  conducted  him  to  his  desk. 
There,  in  a  big  glass  of  alcohol,  he  pro- 
duced a  strange  creature,  which  greatly 
resembled  a  rotten  pumpkin,  with  a  few 
fibres  which  looked  like  undeveloped 
limbs.  "This,"  said  the  sage,  "is  man  as 
he  was  a  thousand  million  years  ago,  be- 
fore he  degenerated  into  'amphioxus  lan- 
ceolatus,'  from  whom  we  have  started 
up  again,  so  that  we  can  hope  in  the  next 
future  to  attain  something  extraordinary." 

"Beautiful  he  is  not,"  Edward  said  dis- 
appointedly. 

"But  clever,"  replied  the  sage;  "I  have 
searched  his  head.  Those  doubtful  dis- 
tinctions of  here  and  there,  of  to-day  and 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  which  involve 
us  in  so  many  difBculties,  did  not  exist 
at  that  time.  The  question  whether  twice 
two  is  four  and  everything  else  remained 
undecided,  and  as  to  the  principles  of  ge- 
ometry, I  can  assure  you  that  in  those 


57 


days  the  crookedest  line  was  the  shortest 
path  between  two  points." 

Here  the  philosopher  paused  in  order 
to  leave  his  guest  time  to  express  his  ad- 
miration, and  to  propose  further  ques- 
tions. 

"Honored  sir,"  Edward  said,  "may  I 
ask  another  little  question?" 

The  philosopher  nodded  kindly. 

"What  do  you  think  of  ethics?  What 
must  man  do  so  that  he  may  prosper  once 
for  all?" 

Without  hesitation  the  sage  opened  a 
drawer,  took  out  a  flute,  put  it  to  his  nose, 
closed  his  mouth,  and,  blowing  up  his 
cheeks,  began  to  play  as  adroitly  as  a 
skilled  canary-bird,  that  had  received  the 
first  prize  at  the  World's  Fair. 

"Understand  me?  Are  you  convinced?" 
he  asked  when  stopping. 

"Not  quite,"  Edward  said. 

Then  the  philosopher  began  to  sing: 

"Upon  the  man  who  does  refuse, 
Tweedle  dee! 
Our  logic,  and  rejects  our  views, 
Tweedle  dee! 

58 


We  turn  our  backs  to  slink  away, 
And  mind  not  what  he  think  or  say, 
Tweedle  dee!" 

When  he  had  finished  his  song,  he  blew 
the  flute  again,  turning  his  head  com- 
placently now  to  this  side  and  now  to 
that.  At  last  he  stopped  abruptly,  re- 
placed the  flute  in  the  drawer,  and  turned 
his  back  upon  Edward. 

Without  taking  further  notice  of  his 
visitor,  the  philosopher  wrapped  his  gown 
tightly  around  him,  whereupon,  crouch- 
ing down  on  the  floor,  he  crowed  like  an 
old  Cochin-China  rooster,  and  disappeared 
in  the  next  room.  The  parrots  crowed 
also. 

Edward  for  a  moment  stood  aghast  and 
then  left  the  philosopher's  study  in  great 
haste. 


59 


III.  THE  DOMAIN  OF  MORAL  ASPIRA- 
TIONS. 

Having  escaped  from  the  philosopher's 
study,  Edward  in  his  dream  entered  an- 
other world.  He  found  himself  in  a  pleas- 
ant valley,  the  roads  fringed  with  fruit- 
trees,  and  saw  at  a  distance  mountains 
rising  higher  and  higher,  to  disappear 
finally  in  the  clouds.  The  broad  high- 
road was  crowded  with  merry  people, 
all  traveling  in  the  same  direction.  One 
man  only  could  be  seen  running  back. 
He  looked  wretched,  was  covered  with 
bruises  and  ill  at  ease.  He  jumped  over 
the  fences  and  ditches  without  looking 
behind  him.  "Tommy  has  gone  crazy," 
said  the  people,  laughing,  and  went  on. 

Edward  soon  observed  whither  the  peo- 
ple were  going.  Where  the  highway  ap- 
proached the  rocks,  near  a  dark  tunnel, 
there  stood  an  inn  called  "The  Cloven 

60 


Hoof,"  a  spacious  old  mansion  newly  fur- 
nished, and  for  ages  very  popular  as  a 
pleasure-resort.  The  host,  a  jovial  fellow, 
limped  slightlj/.  People  say  that  in  his 
youth  he  had  been  in  a  brawl  in  which 
he  got  the  worst  of  it.  His  seven  daugh- 
ters, who  were  jokingly  called  the  "Seven 
Deadly  Sins,"  contributed  greatly  to  in- 
crease their  father's  business.  From  the 
porch  they  threw  kisses  to  the  arriving 
guests. 

In  the  basement  Edward  saw  the  cook 
standing  in  the  kitchen, — an  old,  wrinkled 
hag,  the  grandmother  of  mine  host,  the 
landlord.  All  the  guests  at  the  inn  were 
extremely  merry.  There  was  music  and 
dancing,  and  no  one  thought  of  going 
home. 

Among  the  guests  Edward  found  many 
old  acquaintances.  As  is  usual  in  dreams, 
he  was  not  at  all  astonished;  but  there 
was  one  thing  he  could  not  make  out ;  he 
saw  the  really  good  man  who  had  contrib- 
uted his  share  to  the  collection  for  foreign 
and  home  missions   sitting  in  a  corner 


6x 


with  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  host, 
drinking  champagne. 

At  midnight  the  hotel  'bus  came  to  the 
rear  door.  Its  color  was  black,  and  it  had 
silver  trimmings.  It  was  not  arranged  for 
sitting,  but  for  lying ;  and  was  not  opened 
behind,  but  above.  It  did  not  bring  new- 
comers, but  took  them  away.  The  driver, 
with  his  black  coat,  looked  much  pleased, 
but  he  was  pale  and  thin,  like  Hunger 
personified.  Shouting  to  the  horses  "get 
up,"  he  drove  into  the  tunnel.  But  the 
dance  went  on  as  before. 

As  the  morning  dawned  our  pilgrim  in 
dreamland  approached  the  mountains  and 
came  into  the  company  of  four  travelers. 
They  were  called  "The  Four  Good  In- 
tentions." The  name  of  the  first  was 
"I-Had-Better,"  of  the  second  "Shouldn't- 
I,"  of  the  third  "However,"  and  of  the 
fourth  "Never-Mind."  Mr.  I-Had-Better 
had  a  red  nose;  Mr.  Shouldn't-I  had  a 
round  belly;  Mr.  However  had  big  black 
spectacles ;  and  Mr.  Never-Mind  was  a 
sleek  little  fellow,  who  knew  best  himself 
how  pleasant    he   was.     They    inquired 

62 


about   Edward's  affairs    and    asked    his 
name,  whereupon  he  answered: 

"I  come  from  naught, 
I  am  full  of  thought, 
I'm  not  easily  caught; 
But  my  name  I  won't  tell  you." 

"Then  we'll  call  you  SpirHfix,"  pleas- 
antly shouted  Mr.  Never-Mind.  The  three 
others  laughed  so  heartily  that  Mr.  I-Had- 
Better's  nose  became  blue,  three  buttons 
of  Mr.  Shouldn't-I's  vest  sprang  off,  and 
Mr.  However's  spectacles  became  hazy 
with  tears  of  laughter,  Edward  was  not 
very  much  pleased  with  the  joke  and  flew 
about  three  yards  above  the  company. 

Chatting  humorously  they  walked  on, 
and  the  sun  rose  higher.  Mr.  Shouldn't-I 
took  off  his  coat  and  hanging  it  on  his 
stick  carried  it  over  his  shoulder.  Mr. 
Never-Mind  began  to  whistle,  Mr.  I-Had- 
Better  said  "Move  slowly,  for  I've  got  a 
blister  on  my  heel,"  and  Mr.  However 
observed,  "It  is  sultry.  We  may  have  a 
thunderstorm." 

When  the  sun  rose  still  higher  Mr. 
I-Had-Better  stood  still,  took  out  a  bottle 

63 


and  said,  "What  do  you  think  of  this?" 
Mr.  Shouldn't-I  took  out  a  big  sausage, 
saying,  "What  do  you  think  of  that?" 
Mr.  However  stopped  also,  beginning 
slowly,  "If  we  are  only  not — "  but  before 
he  could  finish,  Mr.  Never-Mind  took  out 
his  knife,  and  shouting :  "Come  old  blade," 
proposed  to  cut  the  sausage.  Then  they 
looked  for  a  cool  place,  sat  down  and 
took  lunch. 

Edward  seated  himself  upon  a  withered 
branch  and  looked  at  them. 

"Spirlifix,  come  down,"  shouted  the 
good-natured  Shouldn't-I,  showing  his 
sausage,  and  I-Had-Better  offered  the 
bottle. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Edward,  for  he 
felt  above  these  trivialities. 

After  a  while  the  four  travelers  con- 
tinued their  march,  and  the  sun  shone 
down  almost  perpendicularly.  Their  steps 
became  slow  and  their  talk  disconnected. 
First,  Mr.  I-Had-Better  remained  behind. 
He  sat  down  under  a  big  tree,  took  off 
his  shoe  and  rubbed  his  foot  with  tallow; 
then  Mr.  Shouldn't-I  stopped  too  and  sat 

64 


down  behind  another  tree.  But  their 
comrades  did  not  notice  the  absence  of  the 
two.  They  came  to  a  place  where  they 
could  look  down  into  the  valley,  and  they 
saw  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  the  jovial 
establishment  from  which  they  had 
started  in  the  morning.  The  sound  of 
pleasant  music  came  up  to  them  and  Mr. 
Never-Mind  stood  still,  took  out  his  opera- 
glass,  when  he  became  aware  of  the  many 
pretty  girls  sitting  in  the  garden  he  went 
to  the  slope  and  slid  down.  Mr.  I-Had- 
Better  saw  where  Mr.  Never-Mind  had 
started  and  also  began  to  slide  down.  Mr. 
Shouldn't-I  was  at  once  inclined  to  do  the 
same  and  followed  suit. 

Mr.  However,  who  was  deep  in  thought 
and  did  not  notice  the  absence  of  his  com- 
panions, continued  his  march  alone. 
"Boys,"  he  began,  "the  more  I  consider 
it,  the  more  I  find  that  our  project  is  a 
very  doubtful  enterprise;  what  do  you 
think?"  Turning  round  he  saw  no  one 
and  said,  "My  spectacles  are  hazy,  I  have 
perspired."  And  having  wiped  his  glasses 
he  at  last  discovered  his  companions  slid- 
es 


ing  down  the  hill.  Mr.  However  was  al- 
ways given  to  reflection,  but  as  soon  as 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  his  decision  was 
firm.  So  was  it  now;  he  went  down  hill 
too  and  arrived  at  the  end  quicker  than 
his  comrades. 

51:       *       * 

In  the  meantime  our  dreamer  continued 
on  his  way.  Before  him  walked  a  pedlar 
carrying  a  wicker-basket  full  of  glass- 
ware. He  was  very  careful,  and  passing 
the  stump  of  a  tree  placed  the  basket  on 
it.  Relieved  of  his  burden,  he  sat  down 
in  the  grass  to  rest.  "Alas,"  he  sighed, 
"how  troublesome  is  life."  Suddenly  a 
gust  of  wind  came  and  blew  the  basket 
to  the  ground,  so  that  all  the  glass  broke. 
"Woe  is  me!"  said  the  pedlar,  "I  have 
scarcely  uttered  a  word  of  complaint  and 
this  accident  happens!"  He  was  very 
much  crestfallen  and  went  to  the  sandy 
slope,  placed  himself  in  the  empty  basket, 
used  his  stick  as  a  rudder  and  slid  down 
hill.  There  he  met  the  four  Good  Inten- 
tions and  was  merrily  welcomed  by  them. 
He  must  have  been  an  old  acquaintance 

66 


of  theirs.    The  music  was  just  playing  a 
splendid  pot-pourri  and  the  fun  was  great. 


Continuing  his  upward  journey  the  mi- 
gratory dreamer  came  among  the  rocks 
and  found  that  unfortunate  man  of  whom 
Plato  tells  us  tied  to  his  seat  in  a  cave, 
with  his  back  turned  towards  the  light 
and  his  face  towards  the  wall;  he  has 
by  this  time  been  reborn  ten  thousand 
times  and  yet  knows  nothing  of  the  things 
which  pass  by  at  the  entrance  of  his  cave, 
recognizing  only  the  shadows  which  they 
throw  upon  the  wall.  Edward  stood  still  a 
few  seconds  at  the  opening  of  the  cave. 
The  Platonist  thought  it  was  a  black  fly- 
speck  on  the  wall  and  greeted  his  visitor 
as  such,  who  left  him  with  a  smile. 

As  our  hero  approached  the  next  corner 
of  the  rocks  he  heard  a  noise  similar  to 
that  which  a  cook  makes  when  pounding 
meat.  Coming  near  he  saw  a  man  who 
was  whipping  his  naked  back  mercilessly. 
"What  are  you  doing,  good  friend?"  asked 
Edward.     "Life  is  a  blunder,"  the  man 

67 


said,  busily  continuing  his  work,  "I  am 
scourging  it." 

Edward  went  higher  and  arrived  in  a 
desert  place  where  he  saw  a  bald-headed 
man  looking  fixedly  at  one  and  the  same 
spot.  "What  are  you  doing,  old  chap?" 
Eward  asked  him.  "  Life  is  an  error,"  the 
bald-headed  man  said,  "  I  think  it  away." 
He  had  thought  away  all  his  hair  and 
continued  to  think. 

Again   our    dreaming    wanderer   went 

higher  and  reached  a  hermitage  where  a 

hoary  hermit  sat  motionless  on  a  mossy 

stone  without  stirring  a   limb.     "What 

are  you  doing,  my  friend?"  Edward  asked. 

"Life  is  a  sin,"  said  the  hermit,  "I  do 

penance  for  it;"  and  he  continued  to  sit 

quietly. 

^     ^     ^ 

Rising  higher  and  higher,  Edward  came 
to  a  green,  flowery  meadow  in  the  middle 
of  which  rose  a  mighty  castle.  It  had 
neither  embrasures,  nor  chimneys,  nor 
even  windows,  but  only  one  firmly  locked 
gate  with  a  drawbridge.  It  appeared  to  be 
built  of  smooth  steel,  so  that  no  one,  not 

68 


even  the  hero  of  this  story,  although  he 
was  a  mere  point,  and  a  dreaming  point, 
too,  could  enter. 

Edward  made  several  attempts  to  pene- 
trate through  the  walls  of  the  castle,  but 
in  vain.  It  was  a  painful  sensation  to 
him,  for  either  the  liberty  of  unimpeded 
motion  which  he  had  always  imagined  he 
possessed  had  noticeably  disappeared,  or 
there  must  be  things  which  were  too 
strong  for  him. 

Edward  addressed  himself  to  an  old 
forester  who  stood  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  but  he  seemed  deaf,  for  he  placed 
his  hand  behind  his  ear  and  began  to 
draw  smoke  from  his  pipe  with  greater 
vigor  than  before. 

"Old  graybeard,"  said  Edward,  "can 
you  not  tell  me  what  that  castle  is  good 
for?" 

"Little  imp,"  he  replied,  "I  too  belong 
to  those  who  do  not  know,  but  my  grand- 
father told  me  often  that  he  didn't  know 
either,  and  as  to  his  grandfather  he  had 
told  my  grandfather  that  its  existence 
was  beyond  recollection,  and  people  sup- 

69 


posed  that  a  secret  tunnel  exists  between 
the  castle  on  the  mountain  and  the  inn 
down  in  the  valley." 

"What!"  thought  our  dreamer,  "does 
he  call  me  little  imp?"  Edward  turned 
his  back  upon  the  old  fellow  and  looked 
at  the  castle.  In  the  moat  a  number  of 
little  pitch-black  devils  were  sporting. 
They  were  trying  to  catch  butterflies  with 
nets,  and  when  they  had  caught  one  they 
fastened  it  with  pins. 

Now  the  gate  of  the  castle  opened  and 
a  long  procession  of  rosy  babies  thronged 
out  over  the  bridge  to  the  meadow.  They 
began  to  play  merrily,  and  the  little  devils 
mixed  with  the  children,  teasing  them 
and  wrangling  with  them.  But  the  color 
of  the  little  devils  rubbed  off,  and  the 
children  looked  as  if  they  had  been  play- 
ing Old  Maid,  where  the  possessor  of  the 
unlucky  card  is  besmeared  with  burnt 
cork. 

Upon  the  trees  which  stood  round  the 
meadow  there  were  numerous  stork-nests, 
and  in  every  nest  stood  a  stork  upon  one 
leg  thoughtfully  observing  the  children's 

70 


games.  Suddenly  all  of  them  flew  down 
upon  the  meadow,  every  one  took  a  little 
boy  or  little  girl  in  his  bill,  and  away 
they  went  high  above  the  woods.  The 
children  screamed,  but  the  little  devils 
turned  somersaults  and  shouted  merrily: 

"Stork,  thou  red-legged  twister, 
Bring  us  a  little  sister. 
Stork,  fly  to  my  mother, 
Bring  us  a  little  brother." 

The  narrow  pathway  which  led  to  this 
place  turned  to  the  left  into  the  forest, 
and  our  wanderer  came  to  a  torrent  which 
roared  down  the  hill.  Thick  thorns  ob- 
structed Edward's  view  and  when  he  had 
worked  through  the  thistles  he  saw  before 
him  another  country  and  a  path  leading 
ever  higher  and  higher.  The  path  was 
very  narrow,  and  a  few  quiet  pilgrims, 
each  patiently  carrying  his  burden,  were 
v/alking  thereon.  "Move  slowly,  my  friend, 
and  take  me  along,"  said  Edward  to  one 
of  them. 

The  pilgrim  viewed  the  speaker  with 
a  compassionate  look  and  said:  "Poor 
stranger,  thou  hast  no  heart." 

71 


Edward  was  amazed  even  in  his  dream, 
and  he  paused.  He  followed  the  pilgrims 
with  his  eyes  as  they  modestly  continued 
their  journey.  They  passed  over  the  tor- 
rent on  a  plank  which  served  as  a  bridge. 
On  the  other  bank  there  was  a  wall  with 
a  narrow  door.  The  pilgrims  entered, 
and  the  door  shut  upon  them.  Our  little 
adventurer  tried  to  get  in,  but  the  door 
had  no  keyhole,  and  the  walls  to  the  right 
and  the  left  appeared  impenetrable. 

At  last  Edward  climbed  up  and  looked 
over  the  wall,  and  there  he  saw  a  glorious 
temple  city  built  of  precious  stones  and 
illuminated  by  a  transcendent  light,  much 
more  beautiful  than  sunshine.  He  tried 
to  fly  over  the  wall,  but  a  strong  shock 
repelled  him.  Beyond  the  first  wall  there 
was  a  second  wall — one  which  he  had 
not  noticed — infinitely  higher  and  of  the 
purest  transparent  crystal.  He  buzzed 
for  a  while  up  and  down,  like  a  fly  at  a 
window-pane,  until  he  fell  down  ex- 
hausted. 

Suddenly  a  shadow  passed  over  him  and 
when  he  looked  back,  one  of  the  little 


72 


black  devils  whom  he  had  seen  in  the 
meadow  stood  before  him.  "What  are 
you  doing  here,  you  rascal?"  the  ugly 
creature  shouted,  and  opened  his  grinning 
mouth  so  far  that  Edward  began  to  per- 
spire with  fright,  and  he  stammered,  "I 
am  not  so  bad."  "What  do  you  say?"  re- 
plied the  black  fellow.  "I  will  catch  you," 
and  he  put  out  his  long,  red  tongue,  raised 
his  butterfly  net,  and  tried  to  catch  poor 
Edward,  who  speedily  hastened  away. 

In  order  to  escape  Edward  went  up 
high  into  the  air;  the  devil  followed.  He 
ran  round  a  tree  several  hundred  times; 
the  devil  was  close  at  his  heels,  and  would 
certainly  have  caught  him,  had  Edward 
not  happened  to  see  a  big  giant  with  his 
eyes  shut  and  his  mouth  open,  a  stately 
fellow,  who  lay  asleep,  and  Edward 
thought,  "I  must  know  this  big  man." 
Dead  with  fright  and  in  the  last  moment 
of  emergency,  our  dreamer's  pursued  soul 
jumped  into  the  giant's  open  mouth  and 
escaped  into  a  kind  of  attic  with  two 
windows. 


73 


We  let  Edward  finish  the  story  of  his 
dream  in  his  own  words:  "The  morning 
was  dawning.  There  were  pictures  on 
the  walls  which  were  not  very  faithful 
portrayals  of  what  they  represented.  The 
hand  of  the  clock  pointed  to  half-past  six. 
The  room  was  not  yet  put  in  order.  An 
odor  of  coffee  came  to  me.  I  went  down- 
stairs and  opened  the  door — there  was  a 
dimly  lighted  reception  room  with  red 
curtains.  Upon  a  little  golden  throne  sat 
the  most  beautiful  of  women,  a  portrait 
of  my  wife,  Elise.  She  smiled,  opened 
her  lips,  and  said :  'Edward,  get  up ;  coffee 
is  ready.'  I  awoke.  My  good  Elise,  with 
our  little  Emil  in  her  arms,  stood  before 
my  bed.  I  had  recovered  my  heart  and 
that  of  Elise,  and  that  of  our  little  Emil, 
too.  All  jesting  aside,  my  friends,  if  one 
only  has  a  heart  he  will  feel  and  confess 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  'he  is 
no  good.'  All  else  will  take  care  of  it- 
self." 


74 


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